Bellona's Daughter
by Icaneatpopcorn
Summary: Reyna never forgot what the goddess Aphrodite told her years ago, one evening in Charleston. "You will not find love where you wish or where you hope. No demigod shall heal your heart." The question, then, is...mortal or god? (Set a year after the war against Gaea.)
1. after the storm

**I**

**after the storm**

Before Camp Jupiter was blown to bits, Praetor Reyna Ramírez-Arellano was presiding over the new augur's blessing.

It was five in the evening and the sun was beginning to set behind the Berkeley Hills, casting a breathtaking orange-pink glow all over the Jupiter Optimus Maximus. It washed the monstrous marbled pillars supporting the golden dome of the temple in rose hues as well as the faces of the legionnaires, who stood and formed themselves outside the open-air pavilion. The evening breeze ruffled their hair and put color to their cheeks; they looked like regular teenagers, all two hundred of them, donning purple shirts, but their expressions were that of hard, seasoned warriors. More so was Reyna.

She stood next to the great statue of Jupiter in full Roman armor and with her cloak around her shoulders, which seemed to glow faintly from the power the Athena Parthenos had blessed it with last year. Her long black hair was pulled over one shoulder, braided with thin golden ribbons. It wasn't that she was pampering herself up, as she had repeatedly justified in her mind when the campers gave her second looks before the ceremony began. Besides, there was nothing wrong with adding ribbons. And it wasn't as if Frank Zhang wasn't dressed up himself.

He had always been cute in his own Frank way, but ever since his father blessed him, Reyna couldn't help but appraise how tall he had gotten, and how he had become leaner, muscular. His skin was sun-kissed from his extensive training since the war against Gaea ended. Today would be the first time he wore his armor in front of such great a crowd, since he usually settled for a clean Camp Jupiter shirt and modest cloak of his own in senate meetings. He almost resembled the god Mars: warlike and handsome, firm and sure as he stood on the other side of the statue of Jupiter.

The new augur was Julian Parker, a son of Apollo. He was only thirteen-years-old, but to Reyna he seemed much older than that, kneeling on one leg in the center of the temple, his pale gray eyes set on the marbled floors. The floors were pitch-black marble cracked with golden lines and streams, spreading out in every direction, a lightning storm on the ground, terrifying and beautiful. It looked as if it were ready to swallow Julian's boyish frame. An ivory toga overlapped his camp shirt, its golden belts anchoring his knife, gleaming Imperial Gold. His kneeling stature reminded Reyna of Octavian's ceremony, which she hadn't seen personally, but through a photograph someone took years ago.

Octavian was given proper burial rites despite the absence of his body. But it was only that: a burial to honor someone who had served the legion for so long, even if he ended up a traitor. Though they placed the traditional daguerreotype of Apollo on his burial spot (which was clumsily crafted in itself), the consuls vetoed against giving him the legion's token—a fine little badge of gold carved into an eagle with the Roman numerals XII on its sculpted feather bosom, referring to the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. A legionnaire's name would be carved below in tiny letters. According to the senators, though Octavian was augur for as long as they could remember, in the end he did the legion more disservice than service. Let him have his daguerreotype, one said, because he cannot choose his lineage. But he will not have the token, for there is choice in actions, and he chose to wreak havoc on his own people because of selfishness.

"He is Roman by birth," the senator continued, "but not by character or principle."

Reyna had never liked Octavian, but she didn't hate him, exactly. She was wary of his temper and the unreadable gleam in his blue eyes. His scrupulousness (bordering on obsessiveness) aside, he played an important role in sharpening Reyna's wits and judgment. She had learned to guard herself against him and eventually see past his quick assumptions. Octavian may not be acknowledged as a Child of Rome, but she would never forget him.

Young Julian Parker was different. He wasn't pale and gaunt like his predecessor; he had an almost athletic build that would develop into a warrior's body, as he grew older. Sometimes he felt unnerving, but that was due to the fact that his pale eyes seemed to see beyond regular things, beyond even the most powerful projections of the Mist. He even had the features of a Roman statue—sharp cheekbones, black locks, and a perfect nose.

Which was why other than the two hundred campers standing perfectly still around the outside of the Jupiter Optimus Maximus, about forty or more nymphs lingered dreamily in the background.

"We are here today to commemorate the dawn of our new augur," Reyna began. Her voice echoed loudly in the solemn silence of the temple. Around her, there was no sign of movement. "Julian Parker, Son of Apollo, raise your head and face your witnesses."

He did as he was told. Sighs of admiration gently danced with the steady winds of the evening. Reyna suppressed the urge to sigh.

"Do you, Child of Rome, swear loyalty to the cause of your legion and its people, to use your abilities to its extent when needed and is required of you?" Frank asked, voice clear and solid.

"I do," Julian said.

"Do you, Son of Apollo, swear by your blood to use your gifts for peace and for the greater cause, to supply and guide with the truth, and to maintain the tasking values of mediator among god, half-mortals, mortals, and creatures?"

"I do."

Frank crossed the floor to where Julian knelt. He stood in front of him, the sheen of his armor reflecting on the young boy's face. He spoke.

"We now crown you with the laurel wreath, as signifier of your vows and testimony to your responsibilities."

The eldest senator went up the temple steps. In his hands he held a purple pillow with the laurel wreath poised on top. It was rich green in color, its leaves preserved through time and without even the slightest sign of rotting. It was simple in design, but no doubt that it radiated a grieve promise.

Frank lifted the wreath gently. His arms hovered just above Julian's head. "By your oaths we give to you the role you chose, understanding with it its terms and requirements. We give to you as well our prayers, gratitude, and blessing for your future guidance. For in return, we promise not to receive your talents in vain. The gods and everyone present today are witnesses to this agreement."

Frank placed the wreath on Julian's head as the stars began to dot the crimson and violet sky. Thunder rolled in the distance. _The gods' assent_, Reyna thought with relief.

"Rise," Frank told the young boy.

It was Reyna's turn. She walked towards the pair, assuming her position just farther off, Frank following suit but on the other side, so that Julian was standing in between them. Both praetors turned around to face the spectators. It was time to clarify and to remind.

"Let it be known that on the ninth of February we have marked the newest addition to the Council of Rome and to the glorious line of the god of prophets," Reyna said. "Here we stand witnesses to the promise and vows of this young man to guide us in our endeavors, be it for battle or for truth and wisdom in the course of our lives, as well as to uphold the honesty, discipline, and unswerving loyalty his position demands from both his birthright and choice to serve. May he use his gifts and talents for the betterment of his people and the gods, to whom he owes, and not stray away, for this is a great service entrusted only to those who understand the tragedies and delights of life." She paused and swept a meaningful glance at each of the audience. "_Ave_, his and our rise! _Ave, _Julian Parker, Son of Apollo, Speaker of Wisdom, Augur of Rome!"

"_Ave!_" Everyone cried, loud like battle declarations, loud like the joys of victory. Campers held out their weapons in salute. Rounds of applause from the nymphs—and some of the citizens of New Rome who had decided to attend—broke out, and some started hooting. Reyna couldn't help but crack a smile.

.

Dinner was more lavish than usual, as it always was every feast day. The mess hall was loud with merry campers. The night turned out to be cold and windy, sending the colorful banners in the hall flapping harshly against tall pillars, slapping and engulfing those who were walking and mingling around—which were a lot—and at some point as Centurion Dakota opened his mouth to take a big bite of his pie, a red banner swung in his direction, smacking him and staining the bottom half of his face with plum filling. The Lares themselves did not hold back. To Reyna's amusement they played and messed around with campers as they served food, gliding past rows and rows of low couches and tables, pretending to set a dish in front of them only to grab it away before the campers could gather their utensils. The crestfallen looks of the campers were priceless.

Beside her, Jason laughed. The breeze caught his blonde hair, sweeping strands over the side of his face. He had arrived right after the new augur's ceremony, when people began congratulating Julian, squeezing through the crowding throng for his turn. He had stood out wearing not the colors of the Greek or Roman camp, but in a neat white button-down shirt. In the past year, whenever Jason would visit Camp Jupiter, he always wore the color white. Reyna assumed he did the same thing whenever he came back to Camp Half-Blood. She supposed he did it to respect the camps he alternated, to show neutrality. It was only on the following days of his stay that he would don the camp's (whether Greek or Roman, depending where he was) shirt.

"How long will you be staying, Pontifex?" Reyna asked him now, keeping a straight face.

"I'll be staying for around a week and a half. And don't call me that; even if I basically act like the priest, alternating and all, I haven't had any ceremony."

Being the particular person he was, Jason made sure he spent equal amounts of his time in either camp. Which was six months each. He was _that _particular, but the months themselves were irregular, so she had gotten used to his random appearances over the course of the past year.

"It's pretty hard not to," she mused. "You have always displayed dedication in your duties, but it's one thing to see you as praetor and another to see you acting as ambassador." She crinkled her nose exaggeratingly. "And it's a whole new thing to try to get accustomed to seeing you wear glasses."

Jason played with them now, tipping them over his face: up, down, up, down. "I'm still dashing."

"Of course you are," Reyna agreed. There was nothing awkward between them. Sure, though she and Piper McLean had gotten close over the last year, things had been somehow awkward with Jason. But it was more due to the fact that he had kept looking at her like a confused dog the week after Gaea's mess, as if he needed to hear from herself if she had forgiven him for leading her on. So she had. And she was completely fine now, she liked Piper, was even honored to call her one of her close friends. Piper understood her, not just because she was a child of Aphrodite, but simply because she knew the raw parts of Reyna that Reyna herself didn't know she had.

Something in Reyna's mind sparked. A memory. A sunset walk. To her shame—which she didn't feel until after—she pushed the memory away, pushed it down the deepest recesses of her brain.

"Are you okay?" Jason's voice was alarmed. "You seem pale."

"What? Oh, I'm fine. It's nothing. It's just really cold," she lied. She wished he averted his blue eyes from her face, which were a thousand times more analyzing than ever. "How are you, by the way, in Camp Half-Blood?"

She let herself be swept by his stories, which were surprisingly detailed, his narratives colorful and precise. She could feel the love he felt for his other home as he spoke of the training games he participated in, and the day the Stoll twins forced him to prank an Ares kid during mountain-climbing lessons (Reyna was incredulous at this tale), and the ruckus that occurred in the Big House, when Seymour the leopard head fell from its nails on the wall and onto the floor, hopping crazily after stray mice. He was telling the story about Percy Jackson accidentally walking in on Gleeson Hedge and Mellie "getting ready to get it on" when Frank appeared in front of them, Hazel Levesque beside him.

"What?" Frank blubbered, obviously overhearing the phrase Jason had said. Hazel's face was pink and she fanned at it absentmindedly, suddenly interested at the grapes on the table. Reyna was grinning from ear to ear.

And that was when the small spark in the sky caught her attention. Before she could stand up, the table screeching loudly against the floors, the sound of copper mugs on top crashing against the surface, toppling plates and sending fruits rolling down; before she could so much as shout for everyone in the mess hall to take cover, the blinding streak of light slashed at the dark night sky, disappearing abruptly. Gone just like that. The mess hall was silent, not because they had seen the streak of light that she had seen, but because she was standing, everything around her a discarded chaos. An apple stopped its rolling by the foot of a camper. The campers looked terrified, alarmed, as to what could possibly drive their praetor to such a violent reaction.

Their answer came.

In the distance, so very far away yet close to them, perhaps just the whole length of the _via praetoria_, a great and searing light burst and flared like a dome of brightness in the blackness of the night, sucking the air, deafening everyone's ears by the complete lack of sound in their surroundings. Reyna caught the pure confounded looks of the legionnaires and Lares, each one of them staring directly ahead, speechless at the terrifying beauty of the explosion. And then quickly, without any warning, the burst of light rippled in the distance, giant waves of static visible from the mess hall, and suddenly tendrils of the brightest red color snaked the earthen ground of Camp Jupiter, earth itself cracking and unpeeling and flying off, smashing and smashing land. The monstrous plumes of fire and smoke charged just behind, a conflagration of gold and white, gaining and gaining momentum as they were mere moments from the crossroads of the _via praetoria_.

Reyna didn't think. She ran and ran as quickly as she could, lungs burning, legs straining, breaking through the Decumenian Gate, stopping just outside as she crouched and pulled up her cloak, stretching both of her arms, hoping to serve as a shield for the second time.


	2. visitors

**II**

**visitors**

She worried if what she was doing was enough: if she could shield all of them while waiting for the explosion to dissipate. She had tested her cloak numerous times as soon as everything had settled after the Second Giant War, seeking help from Hazel's horse Arion, standing before him with a bunch of watermelons behind her. Arion would charge at his fullest speed and she'd spread her arms as she did right now, waiting for the impact. The first time they did it, Arion's weight had caused her to stagger on her feet. She saw what her cloak could do; saw how Arion was pushed back farther, trails of smoke rising from the horse's hooves against the ground. To her relief, he seemed unharmed. In a few months she was able to stay rooted to her feet, and she learned that the stability of her cloak depended not only on her stance but on her confidence that it would work well. The watermelons behind her had remained still ever since.

Her only worry now was if she could hold out against such a great force as this explosion. Her eyes were shut tight, her arms firm but shaking, her legs pulled taut. Blazing warmth fanned her hair, her clothes, her cloak. She willed herself to fight back.

"You really need to stop doing that."

Reyna's eyes flew open. Colors and streaks of fire blazed right in front of her. She watched in stupefied awe as red and orange shot up like magma, fuchsia and bright pink, yellow and sharp gold. If she just reached out to—

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

This time she whipped her head to look at the source of that voice. It was actually familiar, but in her shock she hadn't realized it and instead searched, her jaw going slack as she saw Terminus a few feet from her, his torso mounted slightly to the side. His marble face was scrunched up in a frown.

"Wow, this thing is a piece of work," he said, watching the massive wall of hot fire blaze upwards. The wall stretched and encircled everything within the Praetorian Gate.

Terminus' barrier and her cloak rebounded the explosion.

"_Terminus_." Reyna's throat suddenly went dry. _Please. No. _"New Rome?"

"Don't sweat it, praetor; I was warned beforehand. My barriers are everywhere. Sorry about the Field of Mars, though. And the Little Tiber. And the Via Praetoria. And the—"

Her heart quickened with relief. "We can deal with the mess. Thank gods everyone is safe." Then, processing the god's words, turned to him. "Warned beforehand? By whom?"

She wasn't able to find out. Her arms still outstretched, facing the fountain of fire, she heard the sounds of the campers running out the mess hall, Lares bellowing in drama; she could tell by their collective gasp that they stopped just behind her and Terminus, looking at the stream of bright colors surrounding them in all corners. The explosion was slightly thinning; Reyna could somewhat see flashes of darkness outside, land covered in thick smoke. She had to hold on a bit more.

"Stand back!" Terminus bellowed. "Yes, you too, praetor. I can handle from here. Thank you for your help."

Reyna did as she was told. When she let go of her clutch on her cloak from her outstretched arms, a blast of warm wind billowed towards them. Her hands fell limp to her sides, unprepared, and she felt a dull ache beginning to throb in her right forearm. She took a step back.

They watched as the fire thinned to black smoke. Specks of embers were left behind, red things dancing in the smoky darkness of the night. When it seemed safe to be exposed to the air outside, Reyna felt Terminus lower his barrier, felt the smoke touch her skin, smelled the bitter tang of extinguished fire. The land stretched before them, black and broken. There was pure silence. Reyna was sure the citizens of New Rome on the other end of Camp Jupiter stood outside, watching, as still as the legion was at the moment. Faint stars painted the sky, yet they didn't feel so consoling.

"Do you think it was an attack?" The voice belonged to Gwen.

Reyna turned to them. They were all covered in soot, each of their faces serious and calm. At this moment her heart grew—pride and love mingling for them—for her camp. It was one of those times she promised that she would never betray them.

"Perhaps it is," she said. "We might as well check the source of the explosion." She searched for Frank's face in the crowd, found him holding Hazel's hand somewhere to the side. He saw the look on her face, whispered something to Hazel, and walked over to where Reyna was.

"I don't think we should let the whole legion inspect," Frank spoke her thoughts, quietly, so that only she could hear. "They can come with us, I mean, but not crowd over what hit the camp. I have a strange feeling about this."

She nodded. "Me too. I highly doubt it's any mundane contraption."

Reyna let Frank tell the plan. She turned to Terminus, but he wasn't there anymore. Her forearm throbbed painfully. Holding it up to her face, she could see pale bruises spotting her smooth skin. This would absolutely need a sling.

"The next time you run out to sacrifice yourself again, I'm going to smack you senseless before you can even run out." Jason was beside her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He broke into a wry smile. "Everyone appreciates what you do, Reyna. But you have to be careful."

"I am always careful," she said mildly. Yes, she was fearless in her actions, but everything was always thought out and strategized.

"Let's go, Reyna," Frank told her.

The legion arranged themselves among their cohorts. The Senators (Jason had filtered in with them) positioned themselves behind Reyna and Frank. She took a few seconds to look at the damage. Taking a deep breath, she surged forward.

Everything was scorched black. As soon as they began walking, smoke and dirt clung to them. The long road that was the Via Praetoria was charred, small fires breathing and hissing from cracks on the earth. Campers snuffed them out. Reyna surveyed grimly; their work was cut out for them. The vast fields on either side of the road were uneven and greatly broken. Mars would not be pleased at the fate of his field: the explosion erased the war trenches, tunnels, and current forts. Everyone seemed to exhale—there were no elephant bones. Wherever he was, Hannibal was safe.

The hills that concealed Camp Jupiter were unharmed. They were still looming above and around them, smooth and passive as if nothing had happened at all. The rivers of the Little Tiber were trickling quietly: there were no gushes of the clear blue waters, just sorry streams that struggled to lap and course.

As they neared the crossroads they saw flashlights roving around, moving and assisting. The citizens of New Rome crowded just over the Pomerian Line. Families clung to each other, children crying out. Some adults roamed around for headcounts. Fauns wailed in sorrow. Reyna raised her left arm in salute, hoping to give assurance; the elders among them saluted her as well.

"Reyna! Frank!" A shout broke the solemn silence.

Two figures were running towards them. Someone covered them with the light from a flashlight, perhaps so that the two people could see their way, their outlines now clearly seen to the campers. One tall, lean figure. Another one slender, obviously feminine. Reyna could tell how much Frank was restraining himself from running towards them, same for the boy who wore white in the back, taking a sharp intake of breath, evidently delighted in finally seeing them.

Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase stopped shortly before them, eyes alert as they scrutinized the legion. Both moved and worked like a system, mastered through years of knowing one another. Percy spoke first, his green eyes luminous in the night.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked. His tone held compassion; after all, he had been their praetor for a short amount of time.

Reyna nodded. "Yes. How are the rest?"

"Quite an uproar that explosion made." Percy looked angrily at the sky. "It was like a movie. At some point we all stood in front of the kids—we adults—and held hands. Imagine that. Then—"

"They get it, Percy," Annabeth cut in. Something caught her attention. She grinned widely. "Great seeing you, Jason. Been a long time."

Jason stepped out and walked towards the couple, hugging Annabeth affectionately then giving Percy a fist bump. It was the first time the three saw each other in four months what with Jason's duties and Percy and Annabeth's hectic college schedule. Frank took the opportunity to follow suit and envelope all of them in a tight hug. Reyna heard Hazel's laugh among the Senators.

She let them have their small reunion. Turning to the legion, she said, "Wait first until we give the signal. Do as we planned: watch over the citizens." She looked at the Council and nodded. "Time to cross the bridge."

Or what was left of the bridge crossing the river to Temple Hill, where smoke rose on its peak and dissolved into the sky. Bricks were deep into the grimy soil. Now that they took the other road of the crossroads and were away from everyone, the silence unsettled them. They jumped down the uneven shape of the river, the quiet trickling of water the only sound. Dakota reached the other end and hoisted himself up—this earthen wall was taller than that of the other side. He reached down to assist the others. When it was Reyna's turn, she gave her left arm first before the right one, wincing in pain as she pulled herself up.

Temple Hill was unscathed. No amount of damage could ever leave a scratch on the surface of the temples. They glowed unearthly at night: Bellona's gleaming bronze, Pluto's bright silver, Mars' roof striking ruby red, and Jupiter's glorifying gold. The Council knew better than to be surprised that whatever had attacked the camp would be in the center of the arrangement of the many temples.

What they weren't prepared for, however, was that it wouldn't be an object lying on the ground, rather a person.

The girls turned their heads quickly; though Reyna caught their expressions of immense surprise, their cheeks were flushed bright red. She turned hers away automatically. She heard the boys dropping down the hill and walking briskly over to the center, the sound of a cloak being unclipped and wrapped around someone. Someone coughed awkwardly. Reyna faced them again and jumped down.

The boys encircled the figure on the ground, crouched around it. As Reyna neared the figure, she stopped short on her tracks. It was a man, his face stark white, cloak wrapped tightly around his body, eyes closed. Pale blonde hair matted his forehead. He was so still she wondered if he was dead. But then his chest rose up and down gently, and she knew he was asleep.

"What is this?" Reyna's voice came out rather sharply. Her companions looked at her in surprise. She blinked herself, wondering why she had said it in such a way. She let out a sigh. "Do you think he's a god?"

"It could be a monster," Owen, a Senator, pointed out.

Hazel knelt by the young man's head, a hand to his forehead. She closed her eyes. "He's obviously not dead, but I can sense his fatigue." She looked sad. "He must be a long way from home."

"Like Tartarus home?" Percy said.

"We need to bring him to the medics," said Jason.

"Or should the medics come here?" Annabeth asked. "What if he needs to stay on the hill?"

"He's going to freeze if he stays here all night. Let's take a risk. I don't think he'll have us killed for taking care of him, whoever—_whatever_—he is."

As the male Senators filed in around the sleeping form of the young man—rather awkwardly, as if they weren't sure how they'd transport him back to camp, so they conferred about themselves and decided that Michael Kahale do the honors of carrying him princess-style—Reyna found herself looking at the sky. With the air clear around them, the stars shone quite brightly, separated from each other. She suddenly remembered her sister, Hylla, and a distant memory of her past.

"Look, Reyna," Hylla had said, one summer night as they leaned on the balcony ledge of their home in San Juan, "The stars are telling a story."

Reyna had been eight then. She remembered that her short figure had barely reached the railings, and that the warm wind fanned her forehead. "What story?"

Her sister pointed to a bright star surrounded by a splatter of faint ones. "See that? That one's waiting." Her finger moved rightwards, across a narrow strip of black, starless sky, until it stopped on a different bright star. She went back to the starless strip and made a circular motion. "That's a barrier right there. The star on the left wants to reach the star on the right, but it can't. It can only wait."

"Why can't it cross? How do you know it's a barrier?"

"It can't cross because any star that tries to gets swallowed up in that darkness. That's why it's empty right there."

Reyna had frowned. "You're making that all up."

"I'm not." Hylla laughed. She crouched lower and leaned her chin on her crossed arms, a smile still on her face. It was a peaceful smile, Reyna thought, and one that spoke of contentment. Her big sister always smiled, but sometimes there was sadness underneath those: it made Reyna's heart ache. Tonight Hylla looked very happy, and if it was because of her story of the stars, then Reyna would gladly believe it for her.

"I believe that the star on the left will reach the star on the right," Hylla said resolutely.

"You don't think it'll get swallowed on the way?"

She shook her head. "No. The left star shines the brightest among its companions. Same for the right star, if it tries to cross instead."

_Lovers_. Reyna kept her gaze to the sky. She felt Hylla watching her, and Reyna realized that she had said it out loud. She felt her face go warm despite herself.

"What do you think?" Her sister asked her.

Still blushing and embarrassed, Reyna stuttered, "I think both stars will try to cross. They're lovers, Hylla. The both of them are going to do it, without being asked to."

Hylla had knelt in front of her. "And that's what love is. I'd do the same for you, Rey, as I know you would do for me." She kissed Reyna's forehead. "That's why I watch the stars. I am reminded by them and I learn from them."

Now, looking at the stars in Camp Jupiter, which were scattered evenly against the vast sky, Reyna had the strangest feeling of being speculated. _Not possible_, she reprimanded herself, but even she wasn't relieved. The stars were unmoved, undeterred, and they were watching _them_. Her.

"Praetor?" someone's voice broke her from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry. Let's go."

.

"What is it this time?"

"A man, my lady," said Reyna.

"Are you sure it's not a snake?" The woman in front of them asked thoughtfully. She looked to be in her early twenties, but it was difficult to be so sure when she stood against the warm lights of the inside of her house, arms crossed as she took a step forward and away from the doorframe. A strong aromatic scent struck Reyna, dizzying her a bit, and she could see layers of faint trails of colored smoke wafting around the inside of the house, like an aurora borealis if it could ever be pocketed.

Angitia was lithe and bronze-skinned, with sharp cheekbones that supermodels would get into a catfight for and that men would wage a war for. Her dark eyes were lined with kohl and around her head was a plain—though seemingly expensive nonetheless—red turban that tucked in all of her hair. She was drabbed in robes of blue, purple, and red, and her golden pointed shoes glittered at any angle they looked. Her thick, rusting necklace, which looked like it came from a thrift shop, slithered infinitesimally against her bosom.

"Look at that pallor," continued Angitia. She had moved closer to Michael Kahale and was now inspecting the man he carried in his arms. Her slender fingers lightly brushed away pale strands of hair. "This is the color of a snake after it has shed its skin."

"We're a hundred percent sure he's not a snake," said Michael uncomfortably.

"Pity. I've been waiting for one since last week. I've gotten bored." Angitia sighed. "Anyway, what brings this unfortunate specie here?"

Reyna relayed to her what had happened in the past half hour. (Apparently, Angitia wasn't aware there'd been an explosion; she had been too engrossed in watching YouTube videos of boa constrictors swallowing larger animals.) Under normal circumstances, Reyna would have enlisted the help of the medics, but her gut had told her this was not something ordinary. So she had led the group to New Rome, where they discarded their weapons in front of Terminus, who had been annoyed at being roused, acting as if he hadn't just saved camp from an explosion that could have wiped them all out. They'd then wound their way through the tight streets of the city, rows of white marble buildings hovering above them and shielding the moon with their red-tiled roofs. The commotion hadn't cut off the electricity, thankfully; the lampposts lining the roads were still functioning, if they flickered sometimes.

The Council often visited Angitia whenever a serious injury was involved. As a sorceress of healing, she had the credentials and eons-long experience that had her save hundreds of worst-case legionnaires in the past—legionnaires that were gravely poisoned in battle or bewitched and then driven mad. And that wasn't all: though nobody had the courage to ask for it, Angitia brewed magical concoctions. The campers could only speculate—albeit obsessively—about the kind of concoctions she made.

When Reyna finished her story, Angitia's brows only rose. "Interesting. But I still don't know what I should be doing with him."

"Neither do we," interjected Frank. "We were hoping you could…you know—"

"Find out what he is?"

The Senators bristled slightly. Angitia laughed. "You kids are the funniest. You've seen monsters and gods in your day, but get uncomfortable at the idea of dallying with magic."

_They believe in hard work, not the easy methods magic offers._ "I hope it isn't too much to ask?" Reyna said.

The sorceress shook her head. "No, no. You've gotten me intrigued. But I'd better have a snake in my doorstep by tomorrow morning as repayment."

"It's a deal. Can we come inside?"

"I'm afraid my home is cramped, so I can only accommodate a few." Angitia was already slipping through the front door. Reyna gave an order for the rest of the Senators to go back to the Pomerian Line, where they could check on everyone's safety and update the elders of the situation. The ones who remained were Reyna, Frank, Michael, Jason, Percy, Annabeth and Hazel—and the strange, sleeping man in Michael's arms.

The interior of the sorceress' home was cozy and artfully decorated. Large Moroccan rugs decorated the creaky wooden floors and the high walls were covered with shelves upon shelves of books, a scrolling ladder positioned next to the stairs to the left of the room. A chimney was built against one wall; colored glass jars and bottles of liquid were mounted on top of it. Now that they were inside, Reyna could see the hundreds of colored smoke dancing around her, surprisingly not blurring her vision or choking the rest of her senses.

The group was led up the swirling wooden stairs. They emerged into a longer room with a high triangular ceiling; this time the walls were jammed with rows of potions, bones, beads, and many other peculiarities. A set of long couches, a chaise lounge, and floor pillows decorated the center of the room. There was a study desk at the far end that was positioned against a domed window, its view displaying the Forum outside.

Angitia motioned a finger towards her only set of furniture. Michael placed the stranger on the chaise lounge, easing him down gently. Percy was looking around the room and Frank looked uncomfortable at the sight of petrified animals floating in jars. Jason asked, "Where do you sleep?"

"Do I sleep?"

"Do you?" he said. Immense confusion laced his tone.

Angitia clucked her tongue and kicked a pillow out of the way. "A day is too short to be spent on sleeping. I prefer to make the most out of my time."

"So she doesn't sleep at all?" Reyna heard Hazel mutter to Annabeth.

"So you're the Roman counterpart of Medea," Annabeth said. Her stormy gray eyes were bright with curiosity. "Medea as in Medea of Jason."

"Of me?" Jason asked, incredibly confused.

"Not you exactly, child." Angitia's eyes were glittering with laughter. "Athena's daughter speaks about Jason of the Argonauts. She means I was his wife."

"Then I'm mistaken?"

"You may or may not be. Servius and Silius liked to think Medea was my counterpart, but Gnaeus wrote I was the sister of Medea and Circe. I suppose it's up to anyone who they prefer to think I am."

"Ironic if you were Circe's sister," said Reyna. "I would again be at your family's service."

At this Percy snuck a surreptitious glance at her, and Reyna had to hold back a laugh.

"You are my favorite Praetor thus far, daughter of Bellona." Angitia grinned. Reyna smiled back. "Anyway, let's see what we're dealing with."

They made room as Angitia moved closer to the sleeping form of the man. Now that there was enough light for scrutiny, Reyna took note of the stranger's long form draped on the lounge: though he was wrapped in a cloak, he was unmistakably well built. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken once, and his lips were so full it verged on being feminine. Thick pale blonde strands fell across his forehead, slightly damp from sweat. He was handsome in a way that wasn't overly so, not like Cupid or Narcissus.

The man looked so _mortal_ as he slept, Reyna began to doubt herself. Yet he couldn't be mortal if he'd fallen from the sky like a comet. Or a star. Again, the distinct sense of uneasiness crept into Reyna's mind. She shrugged it away immediately. Whatever the man was, she needed to prepare herself for it.

Angitia placed a hand over his forehead. "He's not a snake, alright."

"Uh, I hope you don't mind my asking, but what's it with you and snakes?" Percy asked.

"She's known to be a snake-charmer," supplied Annabeth. "Apart from her sorcery and healing, she can cure all kinds of snakebites. And she has considerable power over snakes; she can kill one with just one touch."

"I'm so very flattered." Angitia smiled sweetly. "Thank you for that,…?"

"Annabeth. And this is Percy."

"The son of Poseidon made me remember a certain sea snake I came across two weeks ago. I nearly mistook you for it."

"Uh, thanks?"

"How is he, the man?" cut in Hazel worriedly, turning the conversation back to its original topic. "I could only feel exhaustion."

"You're correct," said Angitia. "It's only fatigue, so he'll be fine when he wakes up. There are no noticeable injuries as well."

"But?"

"But whatever brought him here and kept him protected doesn't involve any kind of sorcery. I sense nothing weaved nor fabricated. It's not a deception meant to attack—I can assure you of this—but I can't tell you exactly he's harmless. We will only know when he wakes up."

This brought on a silence from everyone in the room. Reyna studied the sorceress. "You're not telling us something."

Angitia sighed. "I don't think I should be the deliverer of such worrisome news."

"My lady—"

"And you, praetor, should be seeing a medic. What use will you be to your people with a broken arm?"

Reyna stood planted on her feet, chin raised and not daring to move her arm away from her friends' scrutiny. It had been throbbing painfully during the trek to New Rome, but she didn't have the time to think about it. Angitia's dark eyes seemed to increase the throbbing.

"Let me take care of it. As for you kids—" She turned to the rest. "—Enough with the grim faces. Your home is safe. It's late and you need all the alertness you can get for what I have to say. We can talk about this tomorrow after breakfast."

"And the man—" Reyna started.

"Will stay here tonight. No arguments from anyone or I'll turn you all into mice."

Nobody said a word.

"Oh, and help yourselves to tea and milk before going to bed," she continued, suddenly cheerful. "Hollis will serve you."

"Hollis?" Percy asked. As if on cue, the rusting necklace that Angitia wore around her neck slithered noticeably, slowly curling, until the gold paint melded into golden scales and unwound itself from the sorceress' neck, trailing down her left shoulder and slipping to the wooden floor. The snake danced, as if stretching its limbs from a long day at the gym.

_Hello_, a smooth voice spoke in their heads.

"Holy Bessie," said Percy.

_Rude much?_ Hollis said. _You've met George and Martha before. How strange can I be?_

"For starters, they weren't around Hermes' neck."

"Hollis," Angitia said, "tea, please."

_Yes, yes, that's the only thing I'm good for. Never needing my medical assistance, belittling my Bachelor's degree in Biology and specialization in Demigod and Monster Health. Totally okay with it, not as if I'd pulled eons' worth of all-nighters during med school only to be demoted as Brewer of Tea—_

"Excuse him. He's been dramatic lately." Angitia rolled her eyes.

Hollis only grumbled, slithering off and climbing up one of the shelves. He knocked down a couple of jars to the ground, the sound of breaking glass echoing throughout the room, and Reyna was convinced he was throwing a tantrum until the spot where the various liquids melted into one another burst into a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared, a dainty trolley stood in its place, carrying a teakettle and eight cups already filled.

"You, come here." Angitia steered Reyna to a couch as Hollis entertained the others. She pushed her so she was sitting down, pulling her right arm forward so she could see in the light. Reyna cringed. She hadn't noticed her forearm was bent at an odd angle. Angitia made a disapproving sound.

"You use this in battle." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, but it's nothing nectar and ambrosia can't fix."

"Oh, none of those for you. I intend to punish you with a mundane sling."

"Horrifying, my lady."

Angitia snapped her fingers, and a tray of medical supplies appeared on her lap. She began with applying cold compress to the swollen part of Reyna's forearm. "Are you suicidal? I'm not a psychiatrist, but I can try to hear you out."

"It worked the first time. I thought it could work again the second time around."

"You were lucky. Soon enough you'll be fried chicken."

"I'm fine, aren't I?" Reyna said lightly.

"You are the bravest person I know, Reyna," said Angitia. Reyna looked at her in surprise. They had always been good friends, but it always caught her off-guard whenever someone of the sorceress' rank complimented her—she was used to vain minor gods and rude giants. And it was rare for Angitia to be calling Reyna by her name and not by whose daughter she was. It meant she was serious.

"It's every hero's flaw to be giving too much of oneself. Others might thank you for it, but those who love you will constantly be worried. Do you want that for them?"

"Of course not," said Reyna. "Hylla wouldn't want that just as I wouldn't want the same for her. But I knew what I was doing. I know what my cloak is capable of. It's not just luck; even luck requires skill."

"And you're the most skillful demigod in this camp," Angitia said, relenting, though not entirely convinced.

Reyna nodded. "All hard work and passion."

"Fine, praetor." The sorceress brought out gauze. She wrapped it around Reyna's forearm expertly, and then unfolded a sling from her kit. When it was properly tied around Reyna's neck, Angitia handed her a little vial. "It's not as strong as nectar, but it'll speed up the healing nonetheless. Remember: no cheating my punishment."

"I won't." Reyna stood up, just as Hollis slithered her way, balancing a cup of tea on its long form. She didn't know how he was able to do that.

"And don't forget my snake. I'm expecting it when you drop by tomorrow morning."

They bade their hostess good night once they'd all finished their tea. As they made their way downstairs, Reyna, who was at the back, spared one last glance at the room before her view was cut off by the banisters. Angitia stood by the sleeping form of the man. Reyna was about to thank her for the last time that night, the words already forming on her mouth, when she felt it—the great force that slammed against her chest and knocked her out of her breath. Her vision struck white. She thrust her left arm out to seek anything to hold on to for support, and though her fingers dug into splinters of wood from the wall next to her, the only sensation she felt was the burning behind her eyelids; the only thing she saw were the flashing images of a dizzying, glittering purple sky—and all these were soon drowned out by the sound of a woman screeching in pain, voice ringing in the caverns of her mind.

It ended as swiftly as it had come. Reyna remained rooted to her spot in the tight corner of the stairs, heart hammering violently against her chest, sweat rolling down her forehead. She was breathing heavily. In front of her, Michael's eyes were wide with concern. She closed her eyes, struggling to calm herself, and when she opened them, felt the searing gaze of Angitia on her. Reyna turned to face her.

The sorceress' features were unreadable. Her lips were pressed into a hard line. Her kohl-lined eyes met Reyna's for a second before she glanced away, yet in that short amount of time, Reyna did not miss the pain that ran deep in them.

* * *

**A/N: Because it's been more than a year since I've updated, I made chapter 2 longer. More than 5k words, can you imagine?! **

**Just to answer a few of the reviews, _yes_, it's Reyna x OC...or OCs. ANOTHER TREAT SINCE I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG. It's going to include a love triangle, even if I know how much people hate it, but it's the least I can do for one of my fave characters 'cause she's been rejected _twice_. Wth, Rick.**

**Hope you liked this chapter! If there are any mythological errors, feel free to correct me or ignore them because I'm not that of a perfectionist haha. Comment away what you liked or did not like about this chapter because they'll be greatly appreciated!**


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